


you are on your deathbed with me

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23732863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: imagine this:you are on your deathbed. your chest rises and falls, and you think when it is going to stop moving. then you think about me. again. silent and steady.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Kudos: 7





	you are on your deathbed with me

imagine this:

you are on your deathbed. your lungs sting for every breath you take. your eyes are open, though it doesn't make any difference- whether they are shut tight nor unbarred. the vision is just the same: bleak and somber. you think it is because you don’t have your glasses on. i think it’s because of old age.

(you are on your deathbed with me.)

the clock ticks.

your tongue clicks, just to have a taste of acidity that lies in there. there is nothing. you try to observe the room, because that's what you do to have a sense of control. eyes don't lie, you say. but what is there to see, when they couldn't grasp anything in sight? you search for me. you try to remember me, before i get forgotten like everyone else.

(you are on your deathbed with me.)

it is quiet.

your ears have conspired against you for so long. you try to pick anything; a hitch of breath or uneven footsteps, hopefully from the fear of losing you. there is nothing to be heard. must be hard, you think, to be alive while being so lifeless like this.

(you are on your deathbed with me.)

what are you thinking, now?

you think about moving your legs. they have gone sore, on the same position still for days. but moving- that is not possible now. so you close your eyes and you think about life instead.

(you are on your deathbed with me.)

what is it?

you think about your youth day and then you think about the youths. you think about our children and their children. you try to remember names. the names- they are so far away. you reach out, an attempt made to grasp any of them. your grip is empty.

(you are on your deathbed with me.)

is there any regrets?

you want to sink yourself, deep deep deep _deep_. you want to fret about the pillow. your chest rises and falls, and you think when it is going to stop moving. then you think about me. again. silent and steady.

(you are on your deathbed with me.)

do i get to wither, with you?

now you think about flowers, instead. you think about the garden and try to remember what is left in there. your palms are tousled, a piece of souvenir from using the shovel every weekend. you think you see me- nose deep buried in petals. your breath hitch.

(you are on your deathbed with me.)

are you scared?

you think about fear and how obscure the concept is now to you. you remember trying to stay afloat in the shallow puddle of dread. now you want to sink. down down down _down_. you think about the nightmares and try to pinpoint the last time you had them.

(you are on your deathbed with me.)

how does death look like?

your lips tremble. you try to remember how death looked like when it came to you back then. back back back back _back_. you try to catch a sight of him, of death, but again there is nothing. it is a surprise, then, you conclude. sometimes you can feel his claws poking at your back. you see it as a slow execution. a merciful one, hopefully.

(you are on your deathbed with me.)

do you want to sleep?

you think about sleeping and how it is the only thing you do now beside thinking. maybe thinking gets you tired, or maybe... _maybe_. think about it: your thoughts are what is left as an anchor to you existence. you think about the old phrase, that submission is a gift. you see it more as a surrender.

(you are on your deathbed with me.)

you are not exactly the type to give up, though.

you think about the past. there are so many faces, the familiar ones. you see the color red and brown and black and you see me: long platinum hair, the one you braid every morning before work. you remember the screams and the tears- and next you remember the laughter and the warmth of one’s embrace. you shiver. it’s colder now.

(you are on your deathbed with me.)

what if i don't want you to go?

you think about choices. you don't exactly get to choose now. you think about this, about your life and how you never choose this one. but you remember me and you think, _this is exactly what i’ve wanted_. you cling on the memory of me. and then- then you feel everything all at once. and next, there is nothing.

(you were on your deathbed with me.)

is everything better now?

(you were on your deathbed with me.)

i think i'm going to shove the questions down my throat. i think about tucking them under my tongue, just in case someone else cares to answer. and i think about 'someone else' and i wonder if there will ever be one. i hope not.

(you were on your deathbed with me.)

i am on your deathbed, with you. my hands nest in your palm and i am standing, still. i think about grieving and about you. i think about the time when the two words wouldn’t make sense. i think about you and i wonder when i will come, too.

(you were on your deathbed with me.)

i am on your deathbed, with you. and maybe i am quiet- maybe i am crying. maybe there is nothing to say, or maybe i there's too much to spit out. but here: i am on your death bed, with you.


End file.
